March 2013

03/30/2013

The crocuses are peeking up through the ground. Dormant for a long and cold season, they are returning to themselves. New shoots of life. New blossoms opening.

I don't know what it means to be "going back to work" after having children. Going back to work. Getting the career back on track. Job hunting. Setting professional goals. Dusting off ye ol' resumé. What should I say is my recent work history? How to sum up four years of around-the-clock parenting -- the tending, feeding, wiping, soothing, loving, teaching, washing, playing, managing, coordinating and directing? The home economics? The countless sleepless nights? The fortitude required for such complete and grinding devotion?

Crocuses are stubborn flowers. They are native to woodland, meadows and scrub in southern Europe, the Middle East, Northern Africa and Asia. They are not from these parts, New England, U.S.A, these city sidewalk gardens in Providence. But they have taken root here. They have gone deep enough to survive. They have adapted to their environment. They have chosen to grow, despite the limitations and interruptions.

I do know that I don't want to do what I did before. When I left my Executive Director job in San Francisco, to have a baby and move to Providence so my husband could start his PhD program, I thought I would take a brief time away from international non-profit work to be with my baby and then I'd dive right back in. Four years and three kids later, I don't want to dive back in. I'm not the same person I was before this adventure in motherhood began. I am longing to forge a new path professionally, one I have not yet mapped. Some days this feels exciting. Other days it feels stupid, indulgent, and small. And I am afraid.

Bees make magic happen. They are the main pollinators of our entire ecosystem. Nearly one-third of the human food supply is pollinated by bees. Each spring, while we are scurrying by on our way to somewhere, the bees are hard at work, sweet-talking the pollen from the hearts of flowers. And this is how we survive. Year after year. So don't be fooled: we are being loved, and cared for, all around us, all the time. Even with all the noise, despair and indifference, if you look closely enough, the world is still more than planning and proof.

It's easy to sabotage my dreams. It's easy to think them foolish, impractical, too privileged. It's easy to hear the small voice on my shoulder, like a mosquito hissing, "you're not good enough" and "who do you think you are?" It's hard to know who I am supposed to be, this feminist, this mother, this educated woman who is trying to strap her wings back on and fly somewhere, after four years of nesting. My wings are rusty. And the responsibility to my family, the pressure to not screw it up, feels like a swift kick with a boot.

Every spring, the bees return to their diligent work. Every spring, the crocuses, tulips, hyacinths, and eastern redbuds return to themselves, from the hard of the earth, from the darkness of winter. They return changed and ready. Do you know what I mean? Every spring we are saved. It sounds like bees and feels like grace. Every spring is a resurrection, whether we like it or not.

Yep, yeppers, yessiree, I'm definitely working on that. I can already feel the vulnerability hangover I'm going to have on May 5th... but let's not get ahead of ourselves, shall we?

Right now I'm glad to report that there's already *fantastic* energy amongst the other women on the cast and our fearless director/producer team, Laura and Carla (they *so* totally rock!). The whole experience has been warm, friendly, bold, challenging, empathetic, inspirational... and, well, rather cathartic and transformational, actually. And the show hasn't even happened yet!

Thanks, dear readers, for sharing in my excitement about this national project and my small role in it. I simply love the idea of "giving Mother's Day a microphone" and valuing the voices and experiences related to motherhood. Rich, deep, authentic stuff.

03/20/2013

I can't believe I titled my last post "in like a lion, out like a lamb." What better way to jinx the end of March?

Sadly, not only is it STILL snowing, but I have come down with the terrible, horrible flu that Junebug suffered through last week. And also, probably I have strep throat. My doctor says it looks like it must be (even though the strep test was negative). So I started antibiotics yesterday anyway, just in case.

Despite the antibiotics, I still don't feel better at all. I'm just holed up here in my little sick bed on the third floor, trying my best to keep my germs to myself. Too tired even to sew, or read. Today I watched the entire 8th season of Weeds on Netflix. Which might have been awesome if I didn't feel like shards of glass were stabbing the back of my throat the whole time.

Anyway, mostly I wanted to apologize for not having a more thoughtful or interesting post to offer on the blog this week. Especially with so much going on -- the verdict in the Steubenville rape case, the 10th year anniversary of the War in Iraq, and the beginning of the genocide trial in Guatemala -- it's hard not to have the brain or energy for any writing.

But alas, sick sick sick I am. So off I go for some more tea and more sleep. Thanks for understanding and I hope I'm back with a more interesting post again soon.

Welcome

Greetings from Providence! I'm Jennifer, working mom of twins + 1. I'm also a writer, educator, activist, seeker, aspiring photographer and maker of things. I juggle multiple realities all the time and this is where I share about it. Thanks for stopping by!